


dreams to rest hope upon

by procrastinatingbird



Series: ashes of yesterday [1]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, applying the delicate brush of my own headcanons to canon, will add more tags as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbird/pseuds/procrastinatingbird
Summary: Over a hundred years after the Elder Dragon Zhaitan raises Orr from the sea, a sylvari is born who dreams of moving mountains to kill the dragon. Wielding powers strong enough to burn down cities and tear down forests, she will walk the long path to fulfill her destiny, though she will not walk it alone.





	1. Dreamer

“Firstborn!” The sylvari Mender runs out towards her as she approaches, panic clear in every motion. “Thank the Pale Mother you’ve come, we’ve done everything we could--”

Caithe waves a hand dismissively, already gazing past the flustered Mender. “The Pale Tree sent me here to defend the Dream. Do what you must to send me inside, we have little time.”

“What?” Genuine confusion grows across the Mender’s face. “Firstborn, I…”

“Surely you know of the threat to the Dream.” Caithe cannot keep the slivers of annoyance from prickling her speech.

“I… Well, yes of course, but…”

“Spit it out. We are running out of time.”

“Firstborn, it's one of the Dreamers. A pod is _burning_.”

_________________________________________________________

She walks a winding path in a twisted wood and does not know why. The moon glows pale above her and the creaking branches of bare trees obscure her vision of the night sky. Twice, the tops of the trees have curved to frame the moon, a crescent formed by the arching branches, mirroring the celestial body above. She knows such a symbol should mean something, but she does not know what it means or why she knows such things.

Beings whose forms she cannot discern scurry in the shadows, using the night to mask their routines. She continues, steadfast on the worn path below her feet, perhaps a deer trail or the path of those who have walked this trail before her.

In the corner of her eye, there is a rustling in the trees and a pale figure darts between the gnarled trunks of the forest. The figure moves quickly and their dark clothing obscures their full form but she knows it must be someone like her.

“Wait!” The word slips from her mouth unbidden and she is nearly shocked at the sound. Has she spoken before? She does not know. The forest itself seems to tense as the word shatters the silence of the night and the figure stops, turning a pale face towards her. Its features form an expression of muted curiosity and it takes a step in her direction.

A roar shatters the moment between them and the forest grows darker than before. She feels an unimaginable weight pressing down upon her, and she resists the urge to cover her ears against the pressure. She looks up, and sees a being larger than she can comprehend. It grows from the forest, trees twisting upwards, perverted into the creation of a being who she knows, without a doubt, does not belong here. Its eyes burn like fire and veins run through its skin with the same sickly glow. One great eye turns to her and a snarl echoes across the forest.

 _It knows I am here. It has come for me._ She is not afraid. She should be afraid. She turns, pale figure forgotten, and a smile, sharp as a sickle, grows across her face. _I am meant for this_.

There is a tugging in her gut and she raises her arms from her sides, palms facing forward. The ground erupts beneath her feet, growing into a mountain that stretches upwards, carrying her towards the sky, towards the dragon. It crushes the forest beneath it as she rises and she distantly hears someone shouting.

She is level with the beast’s eyes now, and she thrusts a hand upwards, air crackling with her every motion. Pressure builds around her hand and she snaps it shut into a fist, jumping off the mountain and shouting as she leaps forward, lightning sizzling through the sky with her motion, striking the dragon repeatedly around its wings. It shrieks, falling to the ground and her momentum carries her forward towards it. Falling, she engulfs her body in flames, like a comet streaking towards the flailing beast. She sees the tops of the trees closest to her burst into flames as she passes by. She plummets into the beast’s side, burning through layers of its skin. As the vines that form the monster struggle to reconnect, some cauterized by her descent, she grabs the earth once more, bringing it up into a cruelly curved knife as big as the beast itself. As she jumps from its side, she brings the knife down, into the wound and hears the beast shriek once more. She lands and rolls away from it, nearly laughing at how easy it all was. _Why did it come for me? I was always going to win._

“Dreamer!” The shout comes from behind her and she whirls, already on the defensive. It is the figure from before -- a woman, skin as white as a lily petal and clothes formed of dark green leaves -- with her eyes wide and a hand outstretched towards her. She realizes, with a start, that the forest around her is burning. She reaches a hand outwards, momentarily distracted from the woman, reaching towards the flames, searching for something to _make them stop_.

Nothing is there. The flames leap higher and for the first time she is afraid. A strangled cry leaps from her throat as she reaches both hands out towards the raging fire that she started and now cannot contain.

A hand grabs her shoulder, pulling her around to face its owner, who lets out a sharp cry and recoils, palm singed. Suddenly, she realizes the fire is around her, burning up the surrounding air, and she cries out again.

“Help me!” She cries to the figure. “Please, I don’t know how to stop it!”

A roar deafens her, and a giant claw formed from vine and earth slashes through the air. She is thrown to the side, slamming into a smoldering tree trunk, and through the sharp pain of cracking bones she feels the flames around her subside.

With agony comes relief.

Another roar, a death-cry from the beast, already near its end. Her vision swims, but she sees the woman approaching her, daggers in hand. She wonders if the woman will kill her. Can she die? She is not sure if she has even lived yet.

The woman sheathes her daggers, and kneels beside her. There is a distant roaring in her ears.

“Dreamer.” The woman’s voice is clear and strong. She clings to it even as she slips from the world. “I am Caithe. Find me when you wake.”

She feels herself fade, and yet, she knows -- somehow -- that her story has just begun.


	2. Destroyer

The two figures approached Astorea with a gait calm and determined. Gwen slipped on the ground, slick with the blood of the fallen, as she dashed towards them.

“Ysvelta and Tiachren! Both in Nightmare’s grasp!” Gwen gasped out the words as she reached Caithe’s side.

“You are surprised Valiant? Nothing comes back from Nightmare.” Caithe said, her face turned away from Gwen. Gwen could not discern the expression on the Firstborn’s face, but she sensed the hollowness that echoed within her. Caithe drew her daggers from her sides, sinking into a battle-ready stance. “Come. Let us put an end to this.” Gwen hesitated to strike. Tiachren was a friend, an honorable fighter, one who would give his life for those he loved. He would never--

A sword sliced through a Warden’s chest, the sylvari dropping with a strangled scream. A second Warden followed, clutching their chest in a hopeless attempt to mend the gaping wound that had blossomed there. Tiachren laughed, a cruel sound, and pivoted towards Gwen. He sneered upon seeing her frozen, shocked expression, and pointed the blade of his sword towards her.

“Tiachren-” Her sentence was cut short as he leapt towards her, blade flashing in the sunlight and blinding her with its glare. Gwen raised her staff upwards, feeling a heavy thud as his blade meet the gnarled wood. She felt the woosh of a blade behind her and turned, seeing Ysevlta’s face mere inches from her own. Crying out in shock, she swept her hand upwards, lightning arcing from her fingers and pushing the corrupted sylvari back. “Tiachren stop, please! I’m your friend!”

His response was his blade slicing downward, into her shoulder, and she fell with a strangled cry, just barely catching herself on her staff. Struggling upright, her shoulder screaming with the effort, she curled her fingers into a fist, and a shell of earth rose from the ground to shield her. Leaning against the inside of the curved stone shell, Gwen raised a shaky hand towards her wounded shoulder. A fine mist pulsed weakly from her hands and the trickle of golden sap from the wound slowed to a lazy drip. 

A heavy thud against the outside of her protective shell startled her and she stifled the urge to scream. Gwen saw the shell crumble slightly and cracks of sunlight poke through the earth. She pressed back further against the shell, as though if she tried hard enough, the earth itself could swallow her up and she could leave this nightmare all behind.

In a moment of desperation, Gwen wondered if Caithe would rescue her.

“You cannot hide forever Dreamer!” She heard Tiachren laugh again, and another thud sounded from the outside, “my love and I are bound forever now, and we will celebrate our union with the blood of your foolish kin.”

A third thud and a decisive crack broke the shell and Tiachren’s face loomed in front of her, the sunlight blinding her after the gloom of the earthen shell. Temporarily disoriented, she cannot stop Tiachren as he grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her outward from the crumbling earth, her staff catching on the rubble and ripping free from her hands. 

“A fitting sacrifice for my love.” Tiachren said as he raised his sword for one final blow. Gwen struggled desperately, glancing around for anything that might help her, but seeing only the limp, unmoving bodies of the Wardens. Tiachren swung the sword downward, the blade singing in the air as it fell towards her, and--

Fire. An explosion screamed outwards from her body, flames hungrily devouring all that they touched. The limp bodies of the Wardens tumbled backwards like rag dolls and the pitched battle between Ysevelta and Caithe that Gwen could not see was abruptly interrupted as the two warriors scrambled for cover. Caithe threw Ysevelta out of the way and dove behind a vine wall just as the flames reached them, searing the unprotected sylvari and reducing her body to ashes. Tiachren was naught but a burnt husk, frozen in time, sword glowing red as though pulled from the forge, metal gently dripping at unmoving feet.

And still the fire raged, burning the village, reaching the edges of the forest, screaming as it devoured all in sight--

_I can’t make it stop, I can’t make it stop, somebody help me--_

Gwen woke with a start, jolting upwards from her bed. Her breath came in frantic gasps, and she clutched at her sheets, hands clammy and shaky. It was still night in the Grove, though Gwen could not see outside the windowless room she has been confined to since the fire at Astorea. She buried her head in her hands, trying to slow her panicked breathing. 

Ten days. Ten days since she razed the village to the ground. Ten days since Caithe was forced to knock her out to prevent her from burning the forest to the ground as well, ten days since Caithe turned her in to the Wardens with the hollow promise that she would talk to the Pale Tree and try to find a solution.

Gwen dreamed of the village every night. She had been told most of the residents had already been sheltering in protected locations due to the Nightmare Court threat, and that most of the Wardens in the battle were already dead before the explosion. 

“Most” was just another hollow promise. She knew what she’d done. They just refused to confirm what she already knew.

Her breathing refused to steady, and her hands slipped on her face, slick with sweat. Gwen swung her feet over the edge of the bed and rose to pace the room.

It made sense, Gwen supposed, not to agitate her with the true details of the fire. Few were able to literally set something aflame with the intensity of their emotions, and she had just proved herself capable of razing a village to the ground in panic. Telling her the truth of what she’d done might very well trigger another explosion, this time in the Grove. Though -- as she glanced around the slightly singed room -- it was not as though she was a picture of calmness without the knowledge. 

She wondered how long it would be until morning. Gwen did not want to sleep again, to risk seeing the battle once more. Her guilt already consumed her waking hours, and now it threatened her dreams as well. Fitting, Gwen supposed, since her powers threatened her Wyld Hunt as well. She snorted. Some Valiant she is, prophesied to kill the Dragon. Seemed more likely she’d burn all of Tyria to the ground instead.

“Gwenyth.” A cool voice sounded from behind her and Gwen whirled around in shock. She was suddenly aware that the air smelled of ozone and her fingertips crackled with a faint energy. Gwen closed her fists, snuffing the sparks and tried to regulate her breathing.

“Caithe.” Gwen turned to greet the pale sylvari, trying to suppress any notes of relief in her voice. She felt as though she hardly deserved the attention of the Firstborn after what she did. Gwen inclined her head towards the Firstborn, waiting for Caithe to speak.

“The Pale Tree wishes for you to meet her eldest son.” Caithe said. Her demeanor was deceptively relaxed, Gwen thought, for Caithe to be in the presence of a danger such as herself. 

“That’s it?” Gwen nearly snarled. “I burned down a village! Killed innocents! And all that will come of it is a meeting with yet another Firstborn? Some might say death would be a fair punishment for me!”

Caithe raised an eyebrow. “You give yourself too much credit Valiant. Our villages do not burn that easily.” She sighed, “I won’t deny that your actions didn’t harm some in the village. But you are far from correct in assuming that you burned it to the ground with no survivors. The Pale Tree wishes for you to harness your powers and fulfill your hunt, not waste away your days in a glorified cell as you imagine yourself a monster.”

Gwen bit back a retort and turned away from Caithe, fuming as silently as she could manage. “Then my Wyld Hunt will be my protection against any atrocities I might commit? Poor justice for those whose homes I burned.”

“Once you have control over your gifts, Astorea will be happy to see you aid in rebuilding efforts. Gwen, I will not remind you again; you imagine yourself a monster for an action whose effects you have not even seen.” Caithe paused, eyes flashing. “I came here to help a Valiant whose Hunt I share, not act as a Mender for a mopey sapling intent on being the villain of this story.” 

Chagrined, Gwen ducked her head, seeking to lose the piercing gaze of the Firstborn. “I will do as the Mother Tree wishes.”

“Good,” Caithe said, “for Trahearne is already here. Come Valiant, I will bring you to him.”


	3. Student

“So this is the home of the Valiant you have grown so fond of?” Trahearne poked at one of the flowers on the table as he spoke. It was carefully potted, and smaller buds bloomed around the larger flower. It looked native to the area, but Trahearne had been gone for so long he could not recall the flower’s name.

Caithe sighed. “This is Gwenyth’s home, yes. And I mentor her because of our shared Dream. I will not share a destiny with one incompetent.”

Trahearne looked up from studying the flower and regarded his sister. Caithe concealed more often than she shared anything, and the fact that she had chosen a protege at all said more to Trahearne than anything else. After a moment’s pause, he spoke, “still, it is good to see you putting trust in someone again.”

Caithe rolled her eyes. “Don’t start Trahearne.”

“No, I mean it.” Trahearne moved from the table as he spoke, towards Caithe. She turned from him as he approached, folding her arms. “This is a step to getting over your grief.”

“My grief is not a pile of rubble I can simply climb over.” Caithe snapped. There was a pause as she seemed to collect herself. “Trahearne, I don’t want to talk about this. The Pale Tree summoned you here for the Valiant, not for my own--” She trailed off, as though attempting to find the right words.

Trahearne knew better than most what Tiachren and Ysvelta’s tragedy stirred up in Caithe. He also knew that she would refuse to discuss any of her sorrows, preferring instead to barrel through to the next challenge and let those problems obscure the last. He withdraw an halfway outstretched hand and awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “So, the Valiant…”

Caithe relaxed visibly as he changed the topic. “An elementalist. One of considerable talent.”

“I heard she burned down a village.”

“You passed through Astorea on your way to the Grove. How do you think it fared?” Caithe said.

“Astorea seemed singed at best. Most of the damage appeared to be related to the Nightmare Court. The worst seems to be in a singular area near the center of the Warden’s outpost.” Trahearne paused, taking in the information. “The Valiant believes the damage to be worse.”

“She thinks herself a monster at best.” Caithe said. “Confinement in the Grove has distorted her memory of the incident. The blast was directed at her attacker. Tiachren and Ysvelta were the only two killed by the flames, anyone else in the vicinity was already dead.”

“Caithe, the Wardens would not imprison a Valiant for that.”

Caithe sighed. “Her powers are linked to her emotions. The more she feels, the stronger she gets. Right now, Valiant Gwenyth paces her quarters like a caged wolf, and has the patience of one as well. Until she can control her powers, the Wardens have deemed her too great a risk to let outside the Grove.”

“And the Mother Tree wishes for me to help her.” Trahearne frowned, contemplating the task ahead. “I am no elementalist to teach her proper command of her powers.”

Caithe shrugged. “You are the oldest among us, Brother. Theoretically,” she paused, humor slipping into her eyes for a fraction of a second, “also the wisest. But I can only guess at the Pale Tree’s motives.”

Trahearne’s doubt only deepened. Sighing, he awkwardly ducked his head again, breaking from Caithe’s searching gaze. “Very well. I will see what I can do.”

______________________________________________

“Valient Gwenyth. It is good to finally meet you. Caithe speaks highly of your abilities.” Trahearne hoped his smile didn’t seem too forced. Or that his hands were not fidgeting too much. By the Tree, he’d have to get out of Orr more often, least he lose his already rusty social skills.

Gwen didn’t seem to want to be here either, he noted. She shifted from foot to foot, gaze nervously shifting from object to object, avoiding both his eyes and Caithe’s. The air itself seemed denser around around here, cloying in a way not dissimilar to a heavy fog after a storm. Her eyes flashed dangerously as he spoke, glowing a soft yellow in the dim light of the house, reminding him of a caged wolf.

“Firstborn.” Despite her skittish manner, Gwen’s voice was strong and clear as she spoke. “I am told the Pale Tree wished for me to meet with you.”

“By the Tree, you two need to stop dancing around formalities.” Caithe looked to be one moment away from throwing up her hands. Or stabbing both of them. Trahearne decided it would be prudent to cut to the chase.

“Gwen, I’d like to see your abilities in action. Simple spells to start with.” Trahearne moved across the room to a small pile of various items, drawing out a candle, a water pitcher, and some brightly colored stones. “Now, to start with, perhaps you could show me how you would maintain the flame on this candle…”

______________________________________________

“Valiant, next time you plan to light your ceiling on fire, do let me know so I can exit the room earlier.”

“I’m trying! If you’re going to be so critical, you try to control a flame while under the scrutiny of two Firstborns and the threat of losing your place in the Wyld Hunt!”

“Sisters, please. Now, Gwen, perhaps a less destructive element… Water? Let me fill up the pitcher…”

______________________________________________

“I have never seen a pitcher of water explode.”

“It’s not as uncommon as you think. Well, perhaps not explosions, but water expands slightly until it reaches the freezing point, and then after it freezes it expands another-”

“We are not here to learn about the properties of water, Brother. Gwen, perhaps earth next?...”

______________________________________________

“Well, if it’s any consolation, that last test really brought Caithe down to earth?”

“Trahearne, please don’t joke about that -- look at her! -- she’s going to kill me!”

“Caithe will be fine.”

“Yes, but I won’t be once she murders me in my sleep.”

______________________________________________

“I think I see your problem.” Trahearne said.

“Oh really now?” Gwen swept a hand out to the room around them, now garnished with various singe marks, earthen rubble, hastily swept-aside glass shards, and a stray air elemental who seemed to be mildly disoriented. “I see multiple problems.”

Trahearne resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Caithe stalked a clear space of floor behind him, slightly dust covered, and cloaked in an air of murder. “Focus Gwen. You are losing control because your mind is clouded with your previous failures.”

Gwen threw her hands up in the air. “And now I’ve got some new ones fresh on my mind. What’s your point?”

Trahearne took a very deep breath. “Wait here. I think I might have something that will help.”

______________________________

“Trahearne, this is a cube.” Gwen looked at the object dubiously and turned it over in her hands.

“Examine it closer, Valiant.” Caithe said, peering over Trahearne’s shoulder. “Your Dream would have imparted some knowledge of the object’s origin.”

Gwen shook her head, then furrowed her brow. “...it’s… Asuran?”

“Good!” Trahearne clasped his hands behind his back. “A construct cube and magic container all in one. I’m sure the Asura who created it would have a fancier name for it, but the undead beat me to him.”

Gwen opened her mouth as though to respond to that information and then quickly shut it. She shook her head again, shifting the cube from one hand to the other. “How does this help me?”

Trahearne stepped closer to her, and took the cube from her hands. “Magic,” he said, “Is not infinite. You can store your excess magic in this cube, create an elemental that is tied to you. The elemental will retain your power and you will be depowered enough so that you don’t-” Trahearne glanced around the slightly ruined house. “- do this.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Though this is all theory.”

Gwen closed her hands tightly around the edges of the cube. “I will take what I can get.” Her eyes were downcast, and her frond-like hair hung down in front of her face, obscuring the details of her expression. “Firstborn Caithe, Firstborn Trahearne… I am honored you came to help. But if I can, I would ask that you leave me now. This…” She trailed off, uncertain. “I will learn to control this. On my own. I must understand myself before I can fight for the Mother Tree.”

There was something in Caithe’s eyes that Trahearne thought might be pride. “As you wish Gwen. I will return in a few weeks time to check your progress.”

“Thank you Caithe.” Gwen’s eyes flashed as she raised her head ever so slightly. “I will not let you down.”

______________________________

For once, Trahearne found himself clinging to the Grove. The siren song of his Hunt echoed in the silence between moments, but there was a peacefulness to ignoring its call. And it did not hurt that in his months away, the Priory had brought even more manuscripts to the Grove’s budding library. It was nobody’s business if _Orrian Twilight_ spoke more on ancient Orrian courtship rather than undead activity.

“Good book, Brother?”

“Caithe!” Trahearne nearly jumped out of his seat as he slammed the book shut. “Pale Mother, somebody should put a bell on you.”

Caithe gave a self-satisfied smirk to that comment, sliding into the seat next to Trahearne. “Gwenyth has left the Grove. Already there are tales of her glory being spread from one ear to the next.”

“The Asuran device worked?”

“Given reports of a behemoth of flame fighting by her side, I would assume yes.”

Trahearne gave a small smile. “She will be a hero then. Perhaps even take the fight to Zhaitan, as you hoped to all those years ago.”

Caithe hummed softly in response. “Perhaps you are right brother. Only time will tell.”


	4. Magister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff featuring two gay salads doing a little Priory sanctioned temple-raiding.

“Sieran, I swear on the Mother Tree, if you run us into one more Branded ambush, I am booking it back to the Grove with or without the temple engravings!”

Sieran gave a cheery laugh as she sent a wave of water towards a snarling Branded charr, neatly slicing the beast in two. “No you wouldn’t! You’d get too bored there!”

Gwen sighed as loud as she could over the din of the battle, but a small smile clung to her lips. There was a reason she and Sieran worked so well together. Sieran, with her insatiable curiosity, would get them into trouble for the sake of some obscure artifact, and Gwen, with her love for action, would punch their way out of it.

A roar shattered her reminiscing. Gwen snapped her head up just in time to block the giant crystallized claw of a Branded griffon from taking her head off. Her staff groaned under the weight of the heavy crystal and Gwen silently hoped she wasn’t about to break her fourth weapon in a row. Gixx would have her head for that. Spinning, she pulled the staff downwards, letting the griffon slam to the ground as well. “Mojo!”

A gust of wind nearly strong enough to knock Gwen off her feet pulsed downwards from the sky, a elemental formed of wind and lightning with a fist the size of Gwen’s head swooping towards the griffon and crushing it to the ground. A whirl of blue robes in Gwen’s peripheral caught her eye. Sieran was engaged in a pitched battle with the remaining two charr, one of which had icicles weighing down its left side. Dashing forward, Gwen let out a piercing whistle, and Mojo ascended into the sky with a roaring pulse of wind. Sieran’s head jerked up at the noise, and as Gwen shot herself forward with a blast of wind, she yelled to Sieran; “Left!”

Sieran’s eyes narrowed and she darted at the monster to Gwen’s right, as Gwen soared over the last few feet and brought her staff down upon the left-most Branded charr. The two charr crumbled and shattered simultaneously. Gwen’s staff promptly snapped into pieces. Gwen let out a stream of explicit curses about the properties of Priory jade.

“What was that? Your sixth?” Sieran said, picking her way around the edges of the Branded corpses.

“Fifth!” Gwen grumbled, dropping the pieces to the ground. “It was my fifth.”

“At least you can offer an excuse this time. Better than the time you tripped two minutes out of the armory and impaled it with an earthen spike.” Sieran called over her shoulder, already continuing picking her way through the ruins of the temple.

Gwen pulled a face. “I hate Priory robes. The only reason for a long hem is to hide the fact that half our researchers don’t want to wear proper shoes for early morning research.”

“Don’t worry Winnie,” Sieran raised her head, a wide grin set on her face, “I think they’re cute on you.”

Gwen’s cheeks abruptly colored an odd shade of pink. Speaking clearly did not seem to be her friend at the moment, so she pushed farther into the ruins instead. In the back of her mind, she could sense Mojo up in the clouds, scanning the ground below for any sign of more Branded. The oversized elemental wasn’t exactly sentient, but a side effect of Gwen pouring her own magic into the asuran artifact Trahearne had given her seemed to be a limited intelligence to the elemental formed, along with a mental connection to herself. Gwen thought it was like owning a particularly unintelligent, highly destructive dog. Sieran said it was better explained as a additional magical limb with a limited mind of its own. Gixx had told them both explanations were bogus and had proceeded to give a lengthy, more academic explanation that Gwen had promptly forgotten. 

It was at that moment that her foot hit something that was neither temple rubble, nor Branded crystal. Gwen reached a hand back for her staff, only to remember it was lying in pieces near the temple entrance. Repressing another curse about the properties of Priory jade, she looked downwards for the offending item, only to see a limp human hand, presumably connected to a body underneath the pile of rubble in front of her. This time she really did curse.

“Sieran!” Gwen called as loudly as she dared. “I need you over here!”

“Gwen? I swear there weren’t any more Branded when I looked around--” Sieran came hurrying around the rubble, her eyes widening as she saw the hand as well. “Oh mulch. Do you want my help moving the earth?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Gwen closed her eyes, mentally attuning herself to the landscape around her. Gwen curled her fingers into claws and dropped into a stance that brought her low to the ground. With a grunt, she threw her arms to her left, and the rubble groaned and flung itself away with a crash. The strain it caused her surprised her a little, but she had poured most of her energy into Mojo before the journey here. She had discovered the hard way that the Brand was filled with ambient storm magic that all too easily attuned to her. 

“Gwen, are you okay?” Sieran’s voice cut through her thoughts, which were already wandering into the land around her, her mind content with seeping into the hum of the earth. 

“Yeah.” Gwen opened her eyes with some effort, shaking her head to dispel the distant hum of the land. “What about them?” She jogged over to the inert human form. Its limbs seemed oddly crooked, and it was far, far too still. Any recognizable features had been smashed in by the rubble, and the body was slowly crystallizing, tiny purple shards embedded in the skin around wounds surely inflicted by Branded.

Sieran shook her head, rising from where she had been kneeling next to the body. “Long dead.” She sighed. “We should give them a proper resting place… As best we can.”

Gwen nodded, eyes somber. The two silently went about the deed; Gwen moving earth to create a grave, Sieran scanning the ruins for some appropriate stones for a cairn. Neither knew if anybody would be searching for the body, or the soul it once contained. They would lay it to rest regardless. Once the body was lowered into the grave, and Gwen had moved the earth once more over it, Sieran stacked the stones she had created above the body. As a final touch, she added a single spike of Branded crystal to the pile, laying it over the mound as though it were a bouquet of flowers.

Gwen raised an eyebrow at that. “Don’t you think that’s sort of insensitive?”

Sieran shrugged. “You have to admit the Branded crystal is sort of beautiful. If I died in the Brand, I wouldn’t want my grave to be all dark stone like the rest of this place. Too dreary.”

“Huh.” Gwen tilted her head, contemplating. “I suppose you’re right about the crystal. Think we could take a piece back to the Priory and claim it was for dragon research?”

“Gwen, I don’t think you need to hide your rock collection anymore.” Sieran said, smiling. Gwen stuck her tongue out at Sieran, but picked up a smaller crystal regardless, slipping it into a small pocket in the pack they used to carry artifacts.

“So,” Gwen said inclining her head towards the pile of earth, “why do you think they were here?” Personally Gwen had assumed they were another raider of sorts. She and Sieran ran into those types all the time, more often dead than alive.

“A lost trader perhaps?” Sieran responded, gesturing to the splintered wood around the area, that admittedly, Gwen had overlooked before. The wreckage of what was once perhaps a cart was interspaced with broken glass, the dust of what was perhaps spices, and oddly enough, some books. Sieran stooped down to scoop a few up. “ _Skies of Nightfall_? _The Reign of Palawa Joko_?”

“Elonian books?” Gwen couldn’t help a soft gasp. “But no one has been able to reach Elona in...”

“Too long.” Sieran said, eyes wide as she took in the books. Tearing her eyes away from the covers in an obvious show of effort, she glanced around the area. “Anything else of interest here?”

Gwen scanned the wreckage of the trader’s cart. Something was tugging at the edges of her senses, a magical energy just out of reach… She let her feet wander forward, not consciously directing them anywhere, but letting her mind follow the hint of stored magic. There. She bent low to the ground, picking up the inocolous looking black rock. She blew some dust off it, rubbing it with her hand. There was the faintest hint of engravings, runes perhaps, on the rock, but they looked unfinished. Gwen squinted, trying to decipher the meaning of the odd carvings.

There was a crack of lightning, so quick if Gwen had blinked she would have missed it. It blew her backwards, the stone sliding out of her hand as she flew. In the moment the bolt struck, there was a wolf, larger than Gwen was tall, standing, snarling in the place where she had knelt. An just like that it was gone, the only sign it was ever there held in the stone, carvings now faintly glowing a pale white.

“Ughhhh…” Gwen propped herself up on her hands and knees, trying to keep her head from spinning. “Well,” she said, trying to catch her breath, “it explodes, and it definitely contains some magical entity that may or may not want to murder us all. The Priory will love it.” 

Sieran was already beside her, pulling her up to her feet. “Gwen, if you keep getting beat up like this, we’ll never make it to the engravings.” Sieran gently dusted off Gwen’s face, then grinned and kissed the top of her head. Gwen shivered as a stream of ice-cold healing magic coursed through her. “Better?” Sieran called, already gingerly picking up the runestone. 

“Much.” Gwen walked to where Sieran stood, and leaned into the other sylvari, her head resting on Sieran’s shoulder. “Next time, let’s ask Gixx to send us to a nice tropical beach to find some engravings.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sieran hummed. 

“Can’t we just leave the Brand right now?” Gwen turned her head towards Sieran, eyes wide in an nearly convincing innocence she hadn’t truly held since she fell off the Tree. “I’m sure Gixx wouldn’t mind now that we have the books.”

“Engravings first. Then beach.” Sieran looked nearly serious now. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I read this temple was supposed to be trapped! It should be fun!”

Gwen resisted the urge to groan.


	5. Magister pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two gay salads return to the Priory with temple-raided goods in hand and attempt to understand the entity within the runestone.

The stars were just barely beginning to poke through the clouds when Gwen and Sieran finally made it back to the Priory, temple engravings safely in hand, and yet the fortress still bustled with energy. The stairs to the archives were full with blue-robed researchers deftly weaving their way through the crowd, most nose deep in readings of various sorts. Gwen caught a glimpse of fuzzy bunny slippers underneath a robe skirt as one researcher hurried through the crowd and immediately spun to catch Sieran’s attention. Unfortunately, Sieran was also nose deep in a book, the same one she had been reading since they stepped through the asura gate to Lion’s Arch.

“Sieran…” Gwen called teasingly, “Gwen to Sieran, do you read me?”

Sieran glanced up from _The Skies of Nightfall_ , cupping a hand around her ear and widening her eyes in mock confusion. “What was that? I think there’s some magical interference going on, can’t make anything out.”

Gwen sighed dramatically and poked Sieran in the nose. “Well, do tell Sieran that once this message gets through, we need to get the temple engravings to Gixx as soon as possible. The last thing I want is to deal with is an early morning extra-grumpy Gixx.”

Sieran wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Morning Gixx is not something I’d like to see,” she said, shutting the book. “Do we have to tell him we have the books yet? He’ll steal them for himself and we won’t get them back until they’re in the archives for public use, and then we’ll be waiting behind the entire Priory to read them and then-”

“What books?” Gwen said mischievously. “We found books on our trip to the temple?”

Sieran laughed, and grabbed Gwen’s hand, pulling her along as she stuffed the book back into the bag, out of sight. “Oh come on you. We can leave the engravings outside his door. Then we have to head to Nemophi to get you another staff.”

Gwen’s eyes widened at that, and she nearly stumbled. “Oh Pale Mother, Nemophi. She’s going to kill me.”

__________________________

Gwen approached Nemophi’s workshop the way one might approach a wolf den. That was, carefully, on guard, and with a plan to flee if things went south. Sieran stood a few paces behind her ( _“I love you Gwen, but I didn’t break the staff and I will not be on the the chopping block tonight. For once in my life.”_ ) and seemed to be approaching the situation in a similar manner.

Nemophi didn’t even hear them approach. Gwen briefly thought Caithe would be proud of her improving skills in stealth, then remembered Nemophi would probably miss an undead invasion if she was holed up in her laboratory. The purple sylvari was peering closely at what seemed to be an ancient statue of the human god Balthazar, and occasionally glanced at a dusty scroll behind her, as if cross referencing the information from the scroll with the information she gleaned from the statue. Spectacles sat low on her face, her eyes alternating between peering through them as they sat on her nose, to glancing over the top to examine the statue. The only sound in the workshop was the occasional rustle of her branch-like hair, creme colored leaves rustling gently against each other as she shifted minutely in place.

Gwen took a deep breath and prepared herself for the slaughter. She cleared her throat.

Nemophi jumped about two feet in the air, knocking the statue with her elbow. The statue wobbled, wavered, and then toppled, slowly falling headfirst towards its inevitable doom on the cold Priory floor. Then, inexplicably, it halted just inches from the ground.

Gwen only grimaced a little as she slowly raised her hand, guiding the stone statue back onto the table with a gentle thud. Mojo, currently swollen with stored energy, was resting on the roof of the Priory, too far for her to siphon any energy back. She’d have to be careful how many parlor tricks she pulled off. 

“Gwen!” Nemophi said, brushing off her robes as she straightened up. “And… Sieran is that you hiding back there?” Sieran gave a cheery wave, but remained firmly behind Gwen. “You two scared me! It’s a good thing you caught that statue though, it’s one of a kind, the Priory thinks there’s some sort of stored godly magic in it.... I’ve been thinking on how to get it out, originally I figured the material would be more magically porous... The fact that you were able to move it, Gwen, suggests that it’s actually-”

“It’s, uh, good to see you too Nemophi.” Gwen awkwardly rubbed the back of her head, wishing that she was here for a better reason than another broken staff. She made a mental note to visit Nemophi more often with good news and not bad. “Um, listen, about that last staff…”

Nemophi pulled a face. “Priory jade. Now there’s a magically porous substance. Practically unbreakable, but I’ve had some promising results with overloading it with magic to cause it to shatter -- almost like a bomb -- but Gixx told me that we only have so much of it.” She paused, her eyes flicking to Gwen’s back, which was noticeably bereft of any weaponry. “You shattered the staff.” Her voice was dangerously soft.

Gwen gulped. “Um. Maybe?”

Nemophi looked like she was trying very hard not to say something that would send Gwen running for the hills. She settled for a muffled sigh as she put her head in her hands. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Even with a unhealthy amount of your power stored in the elemental construct, you’ve still got too much for any magical conduit to handle for an extended period of time. Have you considered just channeling the raw magic?”

Gwen flinched at that. Her mind was suddenly filled with images of fire, an explosion that screamed outwards, bodies bursting into ash, the ruins of a village smoldering- Someone put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. _Sieran._ Gwen tried to take a deep breath to calm herself. “It hasn’t worked well in the past.” She silently congratulated herself for keeping her voice steady.

Nemophi’s eyes softened slightly, and Gwen knew she’d seen more than Gwen meant to reveal. “I understand. Perhaps an additional jade core on the staff will help alleviate the additional magical strain.” Nemophi turned back to her desk, reaching for a stack of notes. “Let’s see… I think I had made some promising research into the potential use of charged flame cores in our weapons…”

“Oh! Nemophi!” Sieran suddenly popped out behind Gwen, as if ready to emerge now that any sign of danger had passed. “We found an odd runestone while exploring the Branded ruins. Want to take a look at it?”

“Do you need to ask?” A wry smile grew on what little of Nemophi's face Gwen could see. “Place it on my desk. Under the microscope please.”

Sieran gently scooted the stone underneath the microscope and jumped backwards, shifting on the balls of her feet eagerly. Nemophi examined the stone with a critical eye, turning it this way and that way under the lens of the microscope. “Huh.” She murmured. “That’s odd. The runestones are similar to other djinn-related artifacts we’ve uncovered, but the writing tapers off at various points. And the stone is--” Nemophi turned the stone upside down, running her finger over the back-- “rough. Unpolished. Odd for the djinn, they tend to take pride in their creations.” 

“We found it next to a human who’d been killed by Branded,” Gwen said. “Could the human have stolen the stone?”

Nemophi shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m more interested in the properties of the runestone itself. Did it do anything when you found it?”

“A giant wolf popped out of it.” Sieran was bouncing even more now, if that was even possible. “Could you resummon it?”

Nemophi jerked back from examining the runestone, her eyes slightly wider than usual. “A what? How? Did you mean to summon it?”

“I’m not exactly sure…” Gwen bit her lip, regarding the stone. She stepped forward, gesturing for it. “May I?”

Nemophi inclined her head and passed the stone to Gwen. Gwen closed her eyes, reattuning herself to the ambient magic of the world around her. She breathed in, and out, and in, and… There! There was a tug, a pull, centered on the stone. Gwen wrapped her mind around the pull and gave it a gentle push. The magic pulsed outwards, around the stone, and Gwen regarded it curiously. It seemed friendly almost, or at the very least neutral…

“Gwen!” She was shaken from her thoughts by a sharp, hushed whisper. Sieran had her by the shoulder again, and was attempting to yank her back. Confused, almost groggy, her mind still singing the strange song of the magic that lingered around her, Gwen turned her head slowly to where Sieran’s gaze was locked. A hound, its shoulder higher than her eye level, was crouched in the center of the room, five pitch black eyes darting rapidly between its inhabitants; Gwen, frozen in front of it, Sieran, behind Gwen, and Nemophi, to its left pressed as far back against her desk as she could. As mist poured off its body in thick black sheets, the beast began to snarl softly. 

“H-hey there…” Nemophi began, and abruptly cut off with a squeak as the beast swung its head towards her, its snarls increasing in volume.

“Gwen, do something!” Sieran hissed into Gwen’s ear, edging backwards slightly as one tar-black eye lolled in their direction. Distantly, Gwen was aware that the runestone was no longer resting in her hand.

“Hey!” A loud shout cut through the tension in the room, the beast whipping in the direction of the noise. A woman in fine leather robes, with deep brown skin and dark hair braided tightly back into a bun, stood in the doorway, jade Priory rifle in hand. As the beast tensed, she readied the rifle, dropping into a position low to the ground. As if realizing the open invitation for a brawl, the beast leapt at her, snarling as it flew. A crack of gunfire echoed in the room, as Nemophi shrieked, and Sieran pulled Gwen to the floor.

With her forehead pressed closed to the ground and her arm flung over Sieran as if to reassure herself they were both still there and not torn into shreds by this strange ghostly wolf, Gwen could not see much of the scuffle. There was a large crack, a shrill yelp, and then a stifling silence interrupted by a clatter of stone on stone. Gwen dared to crack open an eye as she lifted her head from the floor. The woman from before knelt on the floor next to the runestone, examining it closely. She shook her head, then straightened up and hurried to Nemophi, who was still pressed against her desk and looked as if she was ready to fall over.

“‘Phi are you okay?” The woman grabbed the nearby chair and scooted it behind Nemophi, who collapsed onto it gratefully. “Gwen? Sieran?” She turned her head quickly towards them. “No injuries?”

“An Elonian jackal!” Sieran had already leapt to her feet and was pulling up Gwen. “Even the Priory doesn’t have much information on them! Djinn-created creatures, most accounts say. That would explain the runes. Oh, and thank you Helana for not letting the beast eat us.”

Helana looked incredulously at the seemingly unshaken Sieran then shook her head again, a small smile on her face. “You guys are lucky I got here. What was the plan when you activated the runestone, get eaten by a ghostly djinn-jackal?”

“We weren’t sure it would summon a jackal,” Gwen grumbled, dusting off her robes. “We just wanted to know what it did.”

“It was good timing either way,” Nemophi said, still sounding a bit shaken. She reached for Helana’s hand, entwining their figures. “Why are you back so early? I thought you were diving in the ruins of Old Lion’s Arch until--” She paused, then groaned in realization. “We were going to go to dinner tonight.”

Helana laughed, pressing a kiss to Nemophi’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it. We can reschedule another night. In the meantime… Maybe we figure out this whole djinn-jackal situation?” There was a curious gleam in her eyes that Gwen had come to associate with Priory folk.

“Yeah!” Sieran rushed to where the runestone lay, scooping it up with far more enthusiasm that Gwen would have associated with an artifact that contained a giant jackal that had just tried to kill them. Though… Gwen frowned, contemplating. The jackal hadn’t attacked any of them until Helana had appeared, rifle in hand. Gwen was no animal-expert, but the jackal had seemed more scared than angry.

“Wait.” There was a curious moment of silence as the three women turned their heads towards her, expectantly waiting. “Maybe it wasn’t hostile? The jackal.” The words sounded more ridiculous the more she thought over them. “Maybe it’s just… Scared? Stressed? If we moved to one of the empty lecture halls it’d have more room to…” Gwen trailed off, internally wincing at the suggestion. It’d have more room to do what? Attack them again?

“You know--” Helana said thoughtfully-- “you might be onto something. At the very least we won’t tear up Nemophi’s lab anymore.” At those last words she shot a grin at her girlfriend, who rolled her eyes good-naturedly in response.

“Djinn-trained jackals aren’t supposed to be hostile,” Sieran added on helpfully. “Gwen’s definitely onto something.” 

Gwen gave Sieran a small smile in thanks for the support, then realized the attention of the room was on her. “Uh. Yeah. Let’s go.” She turned on her heel, uncomfortable at being placed in charge of the situation. Gwen moved quickly through the hallway, dodging the few bleary eyed researchers still doggedly perusing tomes, ever aware of the small tail of people following her. Descending into the lower floor of the Priory, Gwen ducked into the first lecture hall she saw. After a quick scan to verify it was empty, she waved her party inside then quickly shut the doors. “Alright. Who has the stone?” Sieran raised a hand, waving the stone in the other. “Alright. Summon the uh, jackal.” Gwen waved her hands vaguely in the air, hoping she didn’t appear as nervous as she felt. 

Sieran nodded, then concentrated on the stone intensely. Her concentration instantly melted away to an annoyed frown. “Gwen, how did you get it out?” She glanced from Gwen to Nemophi and Helana, who shook her head.

“Don’t look at me. My magic will be useless for that sort of thing,” Helana said, as Nemophi also gave Sieran a similar apologetic look. 

“You just… Pull it out? I guess.” Gwen frowned as well, regarding the stone. “You can’t pull it out?”

“I can sense the magic inside the stone, but it won’t react to me in any way,” Sieran said, turning the stone over in her hands. “It could be several things… Helana could have injured the jackal enough that it can’t be summoned again, Gwen’s magic could be the only magic powerful enough to activate it, or any other million possibilities.” She held the stone out to Gwen. “Here, you try.”

Gwen took the stone hesitantly. Immediately she could sense the magic within it, the sentience within it. The jackal was scared, hiding within the stone. Gwen prodded further, gently prying at the very consciousness of the creature. The jackal snarled, sensing her invasion, and withdrew deeper into the stone, a wolf within its cave. “We want to know what you are. We won’t hurt you.” Gwen whispered to the stone, conveying her intentions in both spoken word and a hesitantly outstretched magical probe. “Could you come out?”

There was a hesitancy palpable in the silence. Slowly, the magic inside the stone unfurled, stretched outwards. Gwen watched as the stone seemed to seep black mist, which slowly became solid, a tangible being. The jackal stood in front of her, ears back and teeth bared. Gwen immediately put both hands in front of her in what she hoped was a suitably peaceful demonstration. “Good jackal. Good jackal. Nice jackal.” Her voice had a noticeable waver to it, which she internally cursed.

The jackal seemed unswayed. Suddenly there was a loud gasp from behind Gwen. In a blur of blue robes, Sieran sprinted away from the group, towards the back of the room. The jackal swung its head up, eyes narrowed and following Sieran. Gwen immediately threw herself in front of the jackal, hoping to delay it from eating Sieran for just a few minutes, but with a sound like muffled gunfire, the jackal disappeared in a puff of black mist and appeared behind Gwen, making a beeline straight for Sieran. Gwen panicked, fire faltering in her hands for fear of hitting the other sylvari, and she heard Helana yell from behind her.

“Aha!” Sieran shouted, whirling around to face the charging jackal, brandishing some sort of package in her hand. The jackal skidded to a stop in front of her, ears upturned, all five eyes pointed directly at the package. Sieran then seemed to realize the jackal was in immediate danger of being incinerated by Gwen and shot to bits by Helana. “Wait! Wait.” There was a huge smile on her face as she waved the package about, the jackal’s head following the movement of the package like a pendulum. “Those new charr novices always eat moa jerky back here between lectures. And well, I figured the jackal might like it too!”

“You appear to be correct in that assumption.” Laughter crept into Helana’s voice, though whether induced by the stress or humor in the situation Gwen could not tell. “I can hardly criticize them for it, as it might have just saved us all, and because I did the exact same thing.” Nemophi threw her a scandalized look and Helana shrugged. “What? Nobody except you can stay focused for those hour long lectures.”

Sieran was now throwing the jerky to the jackal, laughing each time the canine caught the treat in its mouth. “See Gwen? It’s a big softy.”

Gwen stumbled to the nearest lecture chair and practically melted into it. Rubbing her hands against her eyes in an exhaustion that was only half pretended, she took a deep breath. “You guys are-”

“Fantastic?” Sieran said, scratching behind the jackal’s ears with a huge grin on her face.

“Full of bad ideas?” Helana was looking at the scene with an expression somewhere between incredulity and amusement.

“Not at all ready to train a giant shadow jackal?” Nemophi deadpanned.

A small smile grew on Gwen’s face. “You all are something, that’s for sure.”


End file.
